


like wildfire

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Phone Sex, referenced rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: It’s Jaemin he misses most amongst the roar of the crowd. He misses lacing their hands together, raising them high. He misses crawling into his lap, kissing him on the backstage couch and in the bathrooms, misses the way he bleeds the luminescence from Donghyuck's bones until they both glow like twin suns.





	like wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be like less than 1k words but it got away from me, whoops LOL.

Jaemin is a lot of things. Determined, loyal, ambitious. A fucking flirt. Punctual, judging by the fact Donghyuck's phone rings at 5am on the dot. In any other situation he would have hung up on Jaemin and told him he was going back to sleep, but this is a scheduled conversation, a remedy to the sickness that's the feeling of forever since they've exchanged more than a few pleasantries. Between time zones, Donghyuck’s schedule, and the perpetual nosiness of the 127 members, the ability to hold a conversation that wasn't interrupted within a few minutes was nigh impossible. Donghyuck is forced to take what he can get.

"Donghyuck..." Jaemin starts. The way he says his name is long and slow, like he's playing with the taste of it in his mouth, stretching the syllables like taffy. 

“Not even a hello?” Donghyuck asks. He rubs the corner of his eye with his knuckles, blinks slowly and yawns. It’s somewhere before sunrise, the inside of his bunk bed painted in monochrome streaks and muted shadows. White noise fills the empty spaces of the tour bus, beneath him the hum of the motor, above him the sniffles and rustle of people turning in their sleep. The stillness of the moment cocoons him, a silence that pillows under his limbs and tries to lull him back to sleep.

Jaemin sighs. "Hello, Donghyuck."

“Was that so hard now?" he teases, voice groggy. "How are you doing anyway? You miss me?”

“Only in my worst moments." Jaemin's voice on the other end of the receiver cracks and breaks, snaps in two and stitches itself back together as their bus drifts in and out of service. "And I'm fine. It's fine. Boring, but fine. How’s the tour? You taken over America yet?" he asks.

“Sadly not," Donghyuck sighs. "They won't let me. I'm thoroughly upset. But the tour's been good. It’s really good.”

They’re just over two weeks in and Donghyuck has only just begun to get used to performing on this scale and playing night after night of packed venues. There's nothing quite like it — hearing thousands of people screaming his name, seeing the way they move to his voice, a sea of lights that sways as he raises his hand, as he calls for them and they respond in return. It's a kind of power that makes him drunk on it, lifts him higher. When he collapses backstage, after they’re said and done, it burns through his veins, fills the hollow of his chest with otherworldly energy, with heat, coils through his body and lifts him to the top of the world.

It’s Jaemin he thinks of, then. It’s Jaemin he thinks of always, when he sees anything remarkable, sunflowers bigger than his head, ducklings waddling down the riverside, food with names he has to ask Johnny to read for him, the sheer sprawl of urban America, strip malls that never seem to end, the only diversion on highways that run for hundreds of kilometers. It’s Jaemin he misses amongst the roar of the crowd. He misses lacing their hands together, raising them high. He misses crawling into his lap, kissing him on the backstage couch, in the bathrooms, misses the way Jaemin bleeds the luminescence from his bones until they both glow like twin suns.

“Did you see the pictures I sent?” Donghyuck adds, catching himself before he lets out something sentimental.

"Mmm, of course," Jaemin says. “The ones from the gardens?”

"Yeah.” Donghyuck fiddles with the hem of his blanket. “Did you like them?

"I like anything you do," Jaemin laughs. The forwardness is enchanting, something so becoming on him. 

"You’re so embarrassing,” Donghyuck says, “don’t stop.”

"I don’t plan on it,” Jaemin says. “I showed them to Jeno, too. He said it looked magical."

Donghyuck would kiss him if he could. He won't admit it, but he lives for Jaemin showing him off, whether it's just to Jeno and Renjun or to the whole world, or anyone in between. Knowing that Jaemin's proud of him, that he wants other people to see the little things that Donghyuck does, that he had no reason to share — it's the best feeling in the world. 

"It really was,” he says. “Even the air smells different here, it's like a fantasy world. It's so dry, but it's hot."

"What's that like?"

"It just feels like it’s going to—” he waves his hand, trying to think of the right description. “It’s like winter, but you can feel your fingers.” 

“You’re really poetic.”

“Thanks.” Donghyuck says, trying not to laugh. “I was gonna tell you about all the things I bought for you, but I guess you don’t care.”

"You’re right. I don’t." 

There’s a gentle pause. Donghyuck can’t tell if it’s from anticipation or patience. He wishes so desperately he could see Jaemin’s face in front of him, not only to read but just to observe, stare at the glimmer in his eyes, the curved bow of his mouth, watch the way his lips part as he talks. The impossibility of wanting something he can’t have, but for waiting, feels like a dull weight in his chest, and he presses his hands against his heart, breathes out. "It's just a few things," Donghyuck says. He'd bought Jaemin a shirt from Miami, a pair of shoes he'd seen in a small store in Dallas. A few trinkets here and there, commemorative coins from museums of strange things like coal mines and ink presses. Reminders that Donghyuck wished Jaemin was here with him.

"Like what?"

"Some special American laundry powder. So you'll think of me when you wash your clothes. Got Chenle cowboy boots, too."

"Donghyuck," Jaemin says.

"What?"

He rolls over in bed, turns his back to the wall so the light from his phone screen doesn’t bleed out into the cabin. Jaemin just chuckles.

"What else have you been doing?"

"Swimming. Having fun without you?"

"Miss me?"

"No," Donghyuck says. It’s a bold faced lie. He’s sure Jaemin knows it.

Jaemin's laughter rings like bells. "Yeah, you're right. It's really nice not having to wake up to you and Jisung swearing at each other in the middle of the night."

"You know the sound of my voice is enough to make your heart sing, c'mon."

"It makes me want to punch a wall most of the time, actually."

"So violent. So masculine."

Jaemin’s voice drops an octave. “I’m so manly I wanna punch something,” he says, then descends into something reminisce of a caveman singing a love song, an unintelligible soundscape of low grunts punctuated by the beat of his fists on his chest. Laughter bubbles up in Donghyuck's throat and he has to hold it in, cover his mouth to stop it from leaking like sunshine through broken blinds. Tears well in his eyes and he’s giggling, begging Jaemin to stop before he wakes up half the room. 

Jaemin makes one last grunt, one last slap of his chest before he lets out a cackle, his joy hanging in the air and fading into a heartbeat of a moment between them. "I really miss you, though,” he says. “Truly." 

It's small, soft. Donghyuck thinks he might have missed it if it wasn't pressed up so closely against his ear.

"Yeah.” The longing washes over Donghyuck again, edged with the gold of Jaemin’s mirth. He misses him every single day. It's not the same without Jaemin, truthfully, even though he has all his friends, he has Mark, he has Taeil, he has Johnny to pick him up on his shoulders and carry him around. "Me too."

There's a soft pause. "I love you," Jaemin says.

"Gross."

"Ya, you're right. You're intolerable."

"_You're _intolerable."

"I have glowing recommendations from many people, thank you. Jeno regularly tells me I'm his favourite."

"Jeno loves everyone. He's a terrible judge of character."

"He's an excellent judge of character."

"Ugh, why are we talking about Jeno again?"

"I needed a character reference."

"Again, terrible.” Donghyuck scratches at his stubble absentmindedly, the texture rough beneath his nails. He doesn’t want to talk about Jeno (as much as — he’ll never say this — but as much as he misses him, too). “What're you doing right now, anyway? How was today."

Jaemin groans. There's a rustle of fabric and Donghyuck can imagine the artful length of his body as stretches, arms arched above his head, shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin above his waistband. "It's really fucking hot."

"Hotter than me?" 

Jaemin ignores him. "Hot enough that I'm lying here in my underwear. Can't be bothered turning on the AC."

Donghyuck takes out his airpods to make sure the sound isn't coming out of his cell phone speaker. Jaemin's voice is casual, but there's an edge to it, something dark, something electric. His heart pounds a little, but once he puts them back in he coughs. "Yeah?" His body prickles with heat. "You wish I was there?"

"Every day," Jaemin says, and Donghyuck knows he’s right. Jaemin sounds like syrup, like molasses, rich and thick, the way he does when he drapes himself over Donghyuck, when his fingers climb up his thighs and his lips nuzzle at the hollow in his collarbones. "Every time I touch myself,” he purrs. “Every time I make breakfast and I think about fucking you over the kitchen counter. Do you remember when we did that?”

The memory is still seared into his brain like an afterimage. Last winter he and Jaemin had managed to get the whole dorm to themselves. They’d started watching movies, quickly moved to making out on the couch, to Donghyuck sucking Jaemin off while the snowflakes grew on the windowpane like lichen. After deliberation, making out against the table, Donghyuck almost breaking a picture frame with his ass, and multiple packets of food being knocked to the floor, Jaemin had pushed him against the bench, spread his legs and fingered him until he was begging for his cock. He’d bent him over, shoved him down with his cheek pressed against the cold granite and fucked him, turned Donghyuck into a mess that only knew Jaemin, only knew the way he felt filled with him, the taste his name left on his lips. His whole body had burned with want, a need that consumed him like a cataclysmic conflagration. 

It wasn’t often Jaemin took the lead, not often he was the one in control, Donghyuck so unwilling to relinquish himself, but when he did it was something to behold, something that seemed to satisfy a part of Donghyuck he kept so well hidden, buried under layers of armour that broke open with every press of Jaemin's wet mouth to his spine, every thrust of his cock inside of Donghyuck, the dance of their bodies that drove home how much they belonged to each other.

“Of course,” Donghyuck says. Renjun had come home and asked why half the food was on the floor, and Jaemin had had the grace to blush, make up a quick excuse of wanting to cook but deciding against it halfway. Donghyuck had just tried not to show how much his legs hurt. The fingerpainted bruises against the soft skin of his thighs the next day had been exquisite. Jaemin had kissed them and told him he was beautiful, and Donghyuck had never wanted to stop.

“You like it when I fuck you, don’t you?” Jaemin chuckles. There’s something so dangerous about his words, they way they seem to dig into Donghyuck, pull him apart and find the weak spots. “You’re so cocky. Love breaking you apart.”

“You’re full of yourself,” Donghyuck says. 

“Only because I know I’m right.” It’s serpentine, delicious, liquid honey rolling across his tongue. Heat pricks at Donghyuck’s skin and he palms his cock, rubs at it through his pants then reaches into his waistband to wrap his hand around himself.

"You looking for a repeat show?" Donghyuck asks.

“You offering?”

Two words that make Donghyuck want to catch the next flight to Seoul, just so he can find Jaemin, shove him up against the nearest wall and break him in two. “I wanna fuck you. I wanna destroy you, Jaemin,” he growls, arching against the heel of his palm. “Wanna hear you whine and moan for me.”

“Are you touching yourself, Donghyuck?” Jaemin asks, voice saccharine. On anyone else it would be cute, innocent. On Jaemin it sounds depraved, makes heat spark across Donghyuck’s skin like he’s an exposed livewire.

“Are you?” Donghyuck counters.

“You wanna see?”

“Yes, god.” The answer comes breathless, his voice dropping to whisper. 

There’s shuffling on Jaemin’s end, a crumpling of fabric and a sigh. Donghyuck’s efforts to imagine the scene, pieced together from all the times he’s found himself above Jaemin, are cut short as his phone buzzes. He angles his screen towards the wall, takes an airpod out to check the sound in the bus and opens the message.

Jaemin’s nude skills are, thankfully better than his selca skills, and Donghyuck hates him for it. He’s gorgeous — lying on his back, hair mussed like he’s just been fucked, lips pink as sin and slightly parted to show the tip of his tongue. His underwear is pulled around his ankles and Donghyuck can’t stop staring at his cock, the way it lies against his stomach, hard, waiting, his hand centimeters from touching. The fucker is even tensing, showing off his stupid washboard abs that Donghyuck nevers hears the end of. He’s struck with another sudden urge to pin Jaemin down, mark bruises across his neck, kiss him until he’s ruined. When it passes his lips it’s only as guttural noise, something that barely conveys just how much he wants Jaemin right now.

“God,” he whispers.

"You like that?" Jaemin asks. It's a disaster in motion. They’re like twin fires, destroying everything they touch, crashing into each other and burning until everything they touch is ash, until they consume each other and spit out the remnants.

Donghyuck makes a low noise, tries to be as delicate as possible as he shifts in his bunk. "Of course you do," Jaemin continues, so self assured. Cocky bastard. "I bet you wish you were here right now." 

"I do," Donghyuck says. 

Jaemin tuts. "So predictable."

"It's 5am, fuck off."

Jaemin cackles, a sound Donghyuck knows would come with his head thrown back, the line of his neck exposed for his mouth to latch onto (or his fingers to press against). He mimics Donghyuck, mocking the hushed tones of his voice. "Fuck off, fuck off. So harsh."

“Na Jaemin,” Donghyuck starts, but Jaemin cuts him off.

"Are you touching yourself now?" he asks. Donghyuck is distracted in an instant, makes a soft whine and squeezes his cock. 

“Yeah.”

"Do you want to show me?" 

He almost knocks his phone out of his bunk trying to pick it up, scrambles with his hands on the sheets and catches it by the corner as it goes flying sideways. His heart pounds in his ears and he waits for a second, two, for the sign that anyone is awake.

“Donghyuck?” Jaemin asks.

“Yeah, I’m here. Almost dropped my phone.”

It's an awkward angle. There's so little light inside his bunk and he won't use the flash, so what Jaemin ends up seeing is a dark outline of his cock, his shorts pushed down his thighs and his shirt pulled up slightly. It takes fucking ages to send, by which time Donghyuck is back to stroking himself, listening to Jaemin breathe on the other end. 

"Mmmm," Jaemin says, after a long pause. Fabric rustles on his end and he lets out a sigh. “Wish I was there. I bet it’s lonely without me. I bet your hand doesn’t compare.”

“Don’t talk yourself up so much.”

“Let me finish,” Jaemin says, hushing him. If he were there it would come with Jaemin’s hand over his mouth, sealing off his lips and obstructing Donghyuck’s carefully formulated comeback. Jaemin’s eyes would storm, obsidian dark, and dare him to squirm, dare him to fight back. Donghyuck would run his tongue over Jaemin’s palm, and Jaemin in turn would push his fingers into his mouth, tell him to be quiet. This is the challenge they always issue to each other, like a schoolyard dare taken too far. Fight me, push against me. See who wins this time, who wants to give, who wants to take, who wants to crumble.

It’s a good dance. An enjoyable one. Donghyuck likes having his moments of being used like this, of breaking down for Jaemin if not for a moment before he takes control again, flips them around and pins Jaemin to the mattress, or the table, or whatever surface they’ve decided is most suitable to fuck on. He doesn’t remember a time where they ever weren’t this forceful, ever weren’t this volatile. It’s intoxicating, goes straight to his head.

“I bet your hand doesn’t compare to my mouth,” Jaemin says.

“You’re just saying that because you’re thinking the same thing about me,” Donghyuck says. A twist of his wrist and he feels something turn inside of him, something begin to wind up tight, charged with the electric hum skittering across his skin. “You miss it. You miss me touching you. You miss me sucking you off.”

“I miss your cock,” Jaemin says. He’s pointedly ignoring him, Donghyuck knows by now. This is the way they work, a constant one up, a constant diversion, a constant wanting to win, pushing at each other, fighting until one of them breaks, opens up and begs the other for what they want. “I miss touching you. Miss your body, your ass, the way your thighs feel when I fuck them. God. When you sent me that photo of you in the pool, all I could think of was your thighs.”

Donghyuck preens upon the confirmation. He knows damn well how much Jaemin is affected by his legs, had made sure to hitch his swimming trunks up before getting Jaehyun to take a photo of him squatting on the pool edge. It was innocuous enough that no-one would have noticed, but he’s well aware of where Jaemin’s eyes would have gone. He knows how to get to him like no-one else can. 

“Dirty, dirty, Na Jaemin.”

Jaemin moans, something soft, something that falls from his lips unbidden. It ricochets through Donghyuck’s brain, spreads down his spine in a long shiver that ends with pleasure spiking through his cock. “You’re a foul human being,” Jaemin says.

“You wanna fuck me when I get back?” Donghyuck asks, ignoring him, digging in, knowing he has the upper hand now. Jaemin’s voice cracks as he tries to speak and Donghyuck laughs. “Do you, Jaemin?”

“Donghyuck—” Jaemin starts. Donghyuck hushes him.

“It’s okay. You wanna show me, Jaemin?”

“Yes,” Jaemin says. It sounds like he’s broken, and then he clears his throat, washes the roughness from his voice and adds, “wanna show you what you’re missing out on.”

Someone else coughs, and Donghyuck freezes mid stroke, Jaemin’s laboured breathing in his ear. “I think someone’s awake,” he whispers. Jaemin chuckles.

“Be quiet then. That’s not hard for you, is it?”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up,” Jaemin mocks. He leaves Donghyuck with only his own breath, only the pounding of his heart as he strains his ears for movement inside the bus. Nothing comes, of course, only Mark’s gentle snores, drifting in and out of focus.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says. It feels like forever between Jaemin’s words, time enough that Donghyuck can adjust himself, kick his sheets further down his bed and inch out of his boxers. He’s presented with the very real dilemma of what he’s supposed to finish onto, because he’s certainly not going to come all over his pants. He scrambles for a second, considers using his shirt, wishes he was wearing socks, before poking his head out of his bunk and feeling around on the floor. No-one’s dropped anything, but in the gloom he sees Mark’s jacket hanging from the bunk above him, a sign from the heavens.

He rifles through the pockets, twisting his body until he’s almost falling out of bed. For once, Mark’s allergies save the day — he finds a wad of tissues that he really hopes isn’t used, snatches it and snakes back into his bed like a scavenger with food.

“What are you doing?” Jaemin laughs. 

“Planning ahead,” Donghyuck grumbles. 

“Bathroom trip?”

“Mark’s tissues.”

“You sure they’re not used?”

Donghyuck sighs and picks apart the scrunched up ball, just to make sure his wank tissues aren’t actually _ Mark’s _wank tissues. “Yes, I’m sure.”

"I’m sending you something then. Maybe it’ll help.”

At the words Donghyuck’s phone buzzes. He lifts it from his chest with a stroke of fear in his heart, with anticipation in his gut, arousal that pulls at the edge of his brain and makes his fingers shake. “I got it.”

It takes a second to load, and he forgets to breathe, only releases it as the first frame, the yellow blur of the dorm wall turns into Jaemin’s face, staring up at the camera. His eyes are lidded and he tilts his head sideways, practically purrs out Donghyuck’s name. It goes straight to Donghyuck’s dick and he bites down on his lip, suppresses the whimper that clambers out of his chest. 

“You see me?” Jaemin says, the real one, right in his ear. He pans down and, really, Jaemin has no right to be such a tease. His hand smooths over his chest, fingers dancing across the freckles painted on his collarbone, rubs at his nipple, small and dark. Donghyuck wants, he wants so fucking badly, wants it be his hands pressing into Jaemin’s skin, wants to close his lips around the bud of his nipple and suck, feel Jaemin’s body writhe against his, bite sharp marks around the muscles of his shoulders and explore the hollow of his neck with his tongue.

The camera keeps moving, tilts sideways for a second when it reaches his waist, giving Donghyuck a view of nothing but the muscles in his thigh, standing out tense under his skin. He rights it and Donghyuck’s heart stops, arousal pricking all over his skin as Jaemin wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it, hips arcing off the mattress. The muscles of his abdomen tense like drawropes, outline themselves under his golden skin, and god he's beautiful, god he's everything Donghyuck remembers and then some. The want digs into him, tattoos itself across his body and Donghyuck needs, he doesn't want, he needs, needs to be the one touching Jaemin, to draw his hand across his cock and watch the way Jaemin's body aligns itself with his.

"You're missing out," video Jaemin says. The camera snaps back up to his face and he blows a kiss, and then Donghyuck is left staring at a blank screen.

"What the fuck Jaemin," Donghyuck hisses.

"Shh, shh,” Jaemin says. “Wouldn't want anyone waking up and cutting us short. Wouldn't want anyone to know how easy it is for me to take you apart."

Donghyuck bites his tongue, turns his head sideways and presses his mouth into the fabric, tries not to snap his hips up. "I'm gonna fuck you into the mattress the day I come back," he says, quiet, quiet, trying to contain all the wanton desire scorching through him. It's burning him from the inside out, digging at him, and he's seconds away from breaking down, begging for Jaemin. He needs him so badly, can’t think of anything except for him, of all the memories of his body, the way he always opened up for Donghyuck, the way his skin felt under his fingers, all the sounds he could tease out of him like a well tuned instrument, the way Jaemin looked when he was utterly wrecked. His Jaemin, his Jaemin, the one that only he got to see, the one that only he would ever know, red lipped and moaning Donghyuck’s name.

"You're so confident I'd let you" Jaemin says, laughs. It’s condescending, like he knew the outcome for this before it began, and it makes Donghyuck want to fight. "I'd rather have you spread your legs for me, Donghyuck."

He doesn’t know if Jaemin is trying to one up him, trying to metaphorically roll him over and pin him down, or if this is what he actually wants. He doesn’t even know if he cares. He just wants, wants so badly that he’d do anything for Jaemin, would fall at his beck and call if he asked for it. “Yeah?” Donghyuck says. “How? How would you do it? Would you be able to?”

Something about that breaks Jaemin, causes him to moan so loud Donghyuck is sure it must bleed out of his headphones and alert the whole world to what’s going on right now. "God I want to feel you inside me so fucking badly," Jaemin gasps. The words come in one long breath, like he’s rapping a verse instead of spinning filth. Donghyuck’s stomach twists, his hips pushing up as he fucks into his hand, pace quickening. He feels his body coiling tight, feels his orgasm begin to spark inside him. When tries to speak and spur Jaemin on it comes out garbled, comes out choked, a gasp and a low moan that rips through him.

"I'm so close," Jaemin says, breathless, like he’s read his mind. "Donghyuck I'm so close. Wish it was you. Wish you were touching me."

Heat pushes at Donghyuck from every direction, narrows his focus, blocks out anything except the rush in his ears, except Jaemin’s hiccuping gasps and moans. “Donghyuck,” Jaemin says, “Donghyuck, ah.” Jaemin’s head hits the mattress and he _ whines,_ gasps, lets out a noise that sounds almost inhuman, something of pure lust that sets Donghyuck off like a domino. His pace becomes frantic, and then he lets go, body arching of the mattress as he spills all over his hand, Jaemin’s name on his lips.

“I think,” Jaemin says, voice lazy, cutting through the fog that leaks from Donghyuck’s ears, “someone might have heard you.”

Donghyuck gropes around for the tissues, finds them almost falling down the side of his bed and attempts to clean himself up. “I’ll never hear the end of it if they did,” he sighs. Jaemin laughs.

“Let them.”

Donghyuck shoves the tissues under his pillow and lifts his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, half expecting to see a faint sheen of light on his skin with the way the afterglow seems to settle in his bones. It’s like he’s been lying in a strip of sunlight cast on a hardwood floor, his body warm and lazy, his eyelids starting to droop shut. He pulls his blankets back up, buries himself in them, falls back into reality. It's like he's swimming back to shore after jumping of a cliff, his body leaking adrenaline as he drifts in the lazy waves.

“Donghyuck?” Jaemin says. Donghyuck yawns, stretches his limbs out and then curls up tighter than before.

“Jaemin,” he replies. Someone sniffles in their sleep. There’s a heaviness all over him, a weight pushing him further and further back into rest, asking him to snatch a few hours before their next stop, before everyone else wakes up and marches into this world that contains only the two of them. In his addled mind, drained and content, he can imagine Jaemin here, pressed against his back, their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“Hi,” Jaemin says.

Donghyuck yawns again, squinting as he tries to fight against the light of his phone screen. It comes out unbidden, unfiltered, tinged with phosphorescence and an honesty he guards so carefully. “I love you.”

There's a second of panic after he says it, like he's dropped a bomb in a trashcan and can't get the lid back on. His screen blooms like an oil slick with how hard he slams the end call button, heart pounding, and he ignores the immediate call back, silences his phone and shoves it under his pillow.

Dealing with the consequences of that is not on his agenda, not this morning, maybe tomorrow, maybe tonight, maybe when his brain isn’t addled by oxytocin. He’s not very good at feelings, not honest ones anyway, not how he feels for Jaemin, the warmth that lingers on long after they disentangle themselves from the sheets, the way he’s carved out a space out for himself in Donghyuck’s heart, somewhere special no-one else has ever touched. It's a dangerous place to be, not just for him but for Jaemin too, a no man's land neither of them is quite ready to cross. They both stay in their castles, show semaphore signs, sneak out under the guise of the stars and share secrets in the cipher of the way their bodies move together, but they never talk about this, never acknowledge it.

The highway rolls on below him and he shuts his eyes, lets the warmth of the confession smother the panic, and revels in the moment, just for this second. There's time to talk later, Donghyuck tells himself. It's what he's always told himself, that it will come eventually. In this moment he's content, happy to drift back to sleep with the taste of Jaemin's name in his mouth, the mark he's left on him inscribed right down to his bones.

It's enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> nahyuck nation make some noise!!
> 
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)!!!


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